


Not His Father's Son

by Suzie_Shooter



Series: Musketeers Series 2 - Athos/Porthos-centric Episode Related Fics [8]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode Related, Established Relationship, Friendship, M/M, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-09
Updated: 2015-03-09
Packaged: 2018-03-17 03:10:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3513047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suzie_Shooter/pseuds/Suzie_Shooter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three scenes set before, during and after 'The Prodigal Father'. Because these conversations had to have taken place at some point. (Follows on from <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/3459623">Standstill</a>, although both fics are complete in themselves.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not His Father's Son

(i)

As Porthos emerged from Treville's quarters, Athos looked up and frowned. After days of constant deferrals and prevarication, Treville had finally agreed to tell Porthos whatever he wanted to know about his father - but Porthos had barely been in there five minutes. Hardly the brevity Athos would have expected, after Treville had made such an issue of it. He wondered with a spike of indignation on Porthos' behalf whether Treville had changed his mind and merely put him off again.

Porthos made his way slowly down the steps. Lost in thought, he almost jumped when Athos appeared in front of him and took him by the arm, leading him into a secluded corner of the yard.

"Well?"

Porthos looked at him unhappily, and Athos wondered if it was bad news. Was Porthos' father dead after all? He knew Porthos had been trying hard not to build his hopes up, but a degree of it had been inevitable while Treville had refused to confirm one way or the other.

"I know who my father is."

 _Is._

"He's alive then?"

Porthos nodded. He hesitated, licking his lips a little nervously. "According to Treville it's the Marquis de Belgard. Whoever the hell that is."

Athos' eyebrows went up in surprise. "He's a marquis?" They had theorised, the two of them, that Treville's reluctance to identify him must stem from the fact that Porthos' father was someone of poor repute or character. It had been a way of softening the blow that must surely come, each of them suggesting increasingly worse and ridiculous possibilities. 

Porthos had gloomily concluded the man was probably a slave trader, and looked suddenly miserable until Athos had said no, with such secrecy involved it must surely turn out to be the late unlamented Cardinal, and Porthos had burst out laughing again. But now - a marquis.

"You outrank me then," Athos teased, hoping to raise a smile. For what seemed on the face of it surprisingly good news, Porthos looked rather sober and thoughtful.

"Have you ever heard of him?" Porthos asked.

Athos shook his head. "The name strikes a faint chord, but I can't bring to mind why. He's not at court. Did Treville explain why he's kept this from you for so long?"

"He didn't tell me a damn thing." Porthos looked angry and frustrated. "Before, he promised he'd answer all my questions, but all he'd give me was a name and where to find him. Said it was up to me now." He clenched his fists. "All this time and he's still hiding things from me."

Athos laid a hand on his arm. "At least now you know. Is he in Paris?"

"No. He lives on his estate and rarely leaves, according to Treville. I'm going there now. I have to."

"I'll come with you," Athos offered immediately, but Porthos shook his head. 

"You're needed here. It's two hours' ride, I'll be gone all day."

"Then take Aramis," Athos said immediately, as the man in question happened to walk out of a nearby door. Hearing his name, Aramis looked up and came over with a smile.

"Take me where?"

"Porthos needs you to accompany him. Treville has set - something of a quest for him," Athos said dryly.

Aramis hesitated. "Ah. I was - actually just on my way to the palace."

Athos slapped him firmly on the back. "Not any more."

\--

(ii)

"If you knew Belgard like I do, you might not be so charitable." Treville leaned on his desk, staring them down.

"Could Porthos be in danger?" Athos asked. They had no evidence Belgard was involved, none at all, yet Treville was still insistent. Given he was not a man subject to irrational vendettas, it followed he must be party to information they were not and Athos was fast losing patience. He'd argued from the beginning that Porthos should have been made aware of their investigations, but Treville had blocked him every time.

Now, Treville would no longer meet his eyes and Athos stepped forward and slammed a hand down on the desk. Treville didn't flinch, but neither would he look up.

"If you sent Porthos into danger without the necessary information to stay safe - "

"I doubt Belgard will hurt him," Treville said wearily. "And Porthos can look after himself."

"These people are killing innocent girls. I doubt they would baulk at killing a soldier. If Belgard is innocent then he needs to know what the Levesques are doing. And if he is implicated then _Porthos_ needs to know. You are not doing him any favours by keeping him in the dark, and I fail to understand why you think you are."

Treville straightened up and finally met Athos' look of contained fury. "You don't know the whole story," he sighed. "You don't know what I did."

"And frankly, right now I don't care." Athos bit the words off tightly. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you've sent Porthos blindly into a dangerous situation just for the sake of avoiding an awkward conversation."

Treville shifted uncomfortably. "For your information, I've already had one awkward conversation with him. It didn't exactly end well."

"What are you talking about?"

Treville opened a drawer and took something out that he dropped onto the desk. Porthos' pauldron.

Athos lifted his eyes slowly to stare at Treville. "When did he come back?" Athos asked, and the ice in his voice was somehow louder than any amount of shouting. "He was wearing that when he left yesterday morning."

"You were all out at the Levesque house," Treville said steadily. "Porthos returned with certain - questions. Apparently my answers weren't good enough."

"And you didn't see fit to tell us this?" Athos lunged forward, hardly knowing what he intended to do but suddenly wanting to shake Treville until his teeth rattled. A hand slammed into his shoulder and held him back.

"Athos, no." D'Artagnan's voice, quiet in his ear, and his hand firm on his arm. "That won't help." 

To d'Artagnan's relief, Athos stayed where he was, although he could feel him trembling with rage. He glanced over at Aramis, hoping for assistance, but Aramis was staring at Treville with as much cold fury as Athos was.

"You let Porthos leave?" Aramis asked, and his voice was hoarse. "Like _this_? And didn't think we deserved to _know_?"

"I didn't let him, I couldn't stop him," Treville snapped. "And you were busy. Needed here. I couldn't have you chasing all over the countryside, or do you consider saving those girls of less import than Porthos' wounded ego?"

This time it was Aramis who lunged forward, and Athos' hand flung out to stall him.

"Enough," Athos said, sounding disgusted. "We're wasting time. Let's just fix this." 

As they walked to the door, Athos looked back to find Treville had remained where he was and shook his head. "Do you not even care enough to come with us?" he asked in disbelief.

For the first time, Treville looked startled. "I - I thought you would hardly welcome my company."

Athos just looked at him exasperatedly, and Treville slowly nodded. He picked up the pauldron from the desk and held it out to them. "Here. Porthos might be more willing to take it back from you than me."

Aramis took it with a curt nod and tucked it inside his coat. 

 

\--

(iii)

"At least someone's happy," Porthos murmured, with a rueful smile. 

Athos glanced over his shoulder to where d'Artagnan was still in full rapturous flow to an amused Aramis. "Hmmn." He looked back at Porthos, taking in the tightness around his eyes, and the uncharacteristic slump to his posture. After an initially determined effort to pretend he didn't care, Porthos had been silent for most of the ride back.

"Are you alright?" Athos asked softly, lowering his voice so no one else would hear.

Porthos sighed. "Shattered, to be honest. I didn't get much sleep last night."

Athos nodded, suspecting there was a lot more to it than tiredness, but willing to let Porthos open up in his own time. He took him by the arm. "Come on."

"Where are we going?" Porthos let himself be drawn away without protest.

"My room. You need to rest."

"Why your room?" Porthos asked with a flicker of amusement.

"Because I happen to know my room's got more wine in it than yours."

They settled on Athos' bed in shirtsleeves and stockinged feet, ignoring the two chairs by unspoken agreement so they could sit next to each other.

"Here." Athos handed Porthos a cup of wine, and then kissed him.

Porthos blinked, taken by surprise. He smiled. "And there was me half thinking you'd brought me here to yell at me."

"Why would I yell at you?" Athos lowered his own cup in confusion.

Porthos shrugged. "I left without telling you."

"We weren't here to tell." Athos sighed, and leaned against Porthos' shoulder. "I'm sorry. We should have been there for you."

"You were." Porthos smiled at him. "I'd have been right in the shit if you hadn't turned up when you did."

"We'd have been there earlier, if Treville had been a little more forthcoming," Athos muttered. He looked sideways, curious. "What _did_ he say, in the end?" It was clear Porthos and Treville had been reconciled to some extent, but neither had volunteered details.

Porthos hesitated. "That it was Belgard who wanted rid of us. That he was going to kill us to protect his inheritance, and Treville and de Foix left us in the Court of Miracles on his orders." 

Athos closed his eyes. "Oh God, I'm sorry."

Draining his wine in one go, Porthos banged the cup down hard on the table by the bed with a bitter laugh. "I don't know whether to hate Treville for causing my mother's death, or thank him for saving my life."

Athos put down his own wine and took Porthos' hand. "Or do you simply forgive the foolish actions and misguided loyalty of a very young man?" he murmured. "And one who has had a lifetime to regret his decision?"

Porthos nodded heavily, and then sighed. "I thought I'd found a family," he said, almost under his breath.

"You already have a family," Athos insisted, moving round to face him. "Right here."

Porthos managed a smile, and squeezed his hand. "Yeah," he said quietly. With his free hand he ran his fingers slowly over the pauldron lying next to him on the bed. 

"It's still yours," Athos reminded him. "You still deserve it."

"As much as I ever did."

At that Athos got to his feet. Porthos looked up in surprise, and gave a startled laugh as Athos promptly straddled his lap and kissed him, hard. After a moment Porthos wrapped his arms around Athos' waist and kissed him back with increasing enthusiasm until they were both breathless and Porthos was smiling again.

"I'm not entirely sure what your point was, but I won't object if you want to make it again," Porthos declared, holding Athos firmly in place against his increasingly interested crotch.

"My point," said Athos severely, "is that regardless of the circumstances in which you acquired it, you have earned the right to wear a Musketeer's uniform a thousand times over. Tell me that you know that?"

Porthos lifted his hand to briefly cup Athos' face, stroking a thumb across his cheek. "Thank you," he said seriously. Then smiled. "Although I'm not sure what that had to do with this." He jiggled his knees, making Athos bounce.

Athos looked almost impish. "Oh, absolutely nothing. I just wanted to kiss you."

Porthos laughed then, a full-throated roar that made Athos smile and a knot of tension between his shoulders he'd hardly realised was there, slowly eased away.

"It's funny," Porthos mused. "I thought I'd feel different. Knowing who I was, where I came from."

"Why should you?" Athos asked. "You're still the same person you were two days ago."

"I'm the son of a marquis now," Porthos pointed out. "Or the son of a conniving rat bastard, depending on your point of view." He sighed. "Guess in some ways he really was a slave trader after all."

Athos rolled his eyes and slapped him on the shoulder. "You, are a Musketeer. Still, and despite your best efforts." He climbed back onto the bed and settled Porthos into his arms. "You wouldn't really have left us for good, would you?" 

"Nah." Porthos looked at him. "Someone's got to keep you lot in line." He sighed. "Maybe I was just making a stupid gesture."

"Well, I've made a few of those myself," Athos murmured, and Porthos laughed, and kissed him. 

"I want you," Porthos whispered after a while, sounding almost regretful.

"I'm yours. You know that." Athos pressed against him, tipping his head back for Porthos to suck at his throat.

"Not sure it's a good idea right now," Porthos sighed, burying his face in the angle of Athos' neck and breathing in the scent of him.

"Why not?" Athos asked softly. 

"Half of me's still so angry," Porthos confessed. "I feel like there's all this rage inside me that doesn't know where to go."

"And you're afraid you'd break me?" Athos smiled.

"I'm afraid I'd hurt you," Porthos said seriously. "And not in the fun way. I don't trust myself right now."

"I do." Athos kissed him, on the lips, the cheek, the brow. "I trust you, Porthos. Always, and forever, with my body and my life." 

He paused, and half smiled. "And my heart."

\--


End file.
